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Rek Stoneblade Character Background

ikazuchi — Mon, 05 May 2008 17:00:09 +0000

The skies above the Sword Plains were clear, letting the stars light the village Tzai. The last days of winter had gone to where seasons die and the spring brought frequent rains. Tonight though, the sky was clear and the stars shone brightly. Devos, the green moon, hung low and full in the sky, the waning slivers of her celestial sisters having set hours ago.
Tzai was a small village, by human standards, having fewer than a hundred residents. A barbaric village composed of dozens of yurts and three stone buildings. Dirt paths wound through the village and the smell of horses was thick on the air. A backwater village in the center of plains that no larger nation bothered to claim. To the caldashi though, the half-orcs who ranged the Sword Plains, it was the home of the Gol, their lord and champion, and the Sword Plains was their empire.
North of Tzai, past the yurts, past the horse pens, beyond even the rice paddies and the fields of crops tended by the peasants, lies a circle of blue stones. The stones mark the boundary of Gu Hash Kinnuth, a sacred place which is home to the Monolith of Harmony and Enlightenment. The Monolith is a finger of granite that thrusts itself out of the flat plains as if the earth was reaching for the heavens. Three paces across and almost a dozen paces tall, the monolith is but one of more than a dozen such stone outcroppings like it across the Sword Plains. All are sacred to the caldashi, and tonight, like every night, the monolith burns with ghostly green flames.

“The orzu mulkuth is not a ritual to be undertaken lightly Rek,” Gorsk said, his voice raspy and strong. The shaman looked around the sweat tent at his fellow holy-men and then returned his gaze to the focus of the meeting. Around him, the other shamans muttered their agreement. The young caldashi warrior, Rek, sat cross-legged in the sweat tent and still his head brushed the low ceiling. Large even for a caldashi, thick, ropy muscle and bright tattoos covered Rek’s body and long black hair fell down his broad back. Rek leaned forward, almost pressing his forehead to ground before answering.

“I understand, Ban-shu,” Rek replied, using the shaman’s proper title. “Both my father and master Xioshan believes it is time for me to undertake this task. That my destiny lies at the end.”
“And what of your family, and your duties here among our people?” the shaman asked, raising an eyebrow. Gorsk had been expecting Rek’s father to suggest such an idea, but not the clan’s gu-ron, master of ink and steel. Master Xioshan was old, even by the shaman’s reckoning, and wise in his years.
“My wives will be well cared for by my brother-husband,” Rek answered, forehead still almost touching the dirt floor. “My father is still young, and should anything happen, he still has my older brothers.” Rek raised his head from the ground and stared the shaman in the eye. “Tzai is not my place now.”
“We cannot keep you from undertaking the orzu, Rek, nor would we want to,” Gorsk said. “We only wish to make sure you know the consequences of your actions. If you still wish to undertake the orzu, present yourself at Gu Hash Kinnuth at dusk, three nights hence, and we shall ask the spirits to guide your first steps. Be prepared.” Once again, Rek bowed his head to the ground before answering.
“As you say, Ban-shu.”

The soft clink of chains and the shuffle of footsteps surrounded the Monolith of Harmony and Enlightenment. Rek grunted slightly as the chains tying him to the monolith were pulled taut and then locked. He had brought the chains, as any who attempted the orzu mulkuth. Before him, Lady Sun began to sink beneath the western horizon, painting the skies red and gold. Around him, the holy men prayed as they annointed his body with sacred oils and drew sacred symbols on him with blessed inks. Rek glanced to the left with his eyes, not moving his head for fear ruining shaman Kaluus’s work as he drew the symbol of truth around Rek’s right eye and glanced at Lei-Shai, kneeling in the grasses and watching with a concerned look on her face. Lei-Shai was Rek and Tanik’s oldest wife and she had been selected to watch over Rek as he went through the orzu malkuth.
The shamans finished their work before the sun finished slipping beneath the horizon, and left along with the last rays of sunlight, leaving him alone with Lei-Shai and spirits the dwelled in Gu Hash Kinnuth.
Chained to the monolith, Rek attempted to meditate. He was partially successfully, until the green moon rose into the eastern sky and the monolight began to burn.

The visions lasted three days. He remembered occasionally drinking the water and rice pulp fed to him occasionally by Lei-Shai, but only as vague images, no more real that half-remembered dreams or nightmares. He remembered less of the visions, though he could feel a deep resevoir of determination and will that they had instilled upon him. The fragment he recalled was of the spirits of earth and wind whispering to him, urging him south and west, towards human lands. Why he did not know, but where the spirits sent him, there he would find destiny.

It had been two weeks since Rek had left the cladani. Since then, he had killed two men and a halfling. The men had stolen and eaten his horse. The halfling had told them to. All seemed to be gripped with some form of insanity and Rek had figured justice had also been mercy to them. However, that did leave him walking for the next three days and the weather had gotten progressively worse and worse. By now, the rain created almost deafening cacophany as it came down and struck his jingasa and soaking his leather traveller’s jacket. Before him lay another town, its stone buildings dark shapes in the torrential rain. Rek glanced at the sign along the road and it took him a second to work through the unfamiliar words.
Trask’s Hinge
“An odd name,” Rek rumbled to himself, “and probably full of odd people.” Nodding to himself, Rek entered the town, placing his hand on the hilt of Guulh no Shin Hu ur Tetsu, the Iron Claw of the Celestial Heavens. His father had given Rek the sword before he left Tzai on his shal-hu manak, destiny quest, and just by touching the hilt Rek could hear the faint whispers of spirits. He could not understand them, but their presence comforted him as he stepped up to what appeared to be the town’s inn. Warm firelight glowed from the windows and the noises of gathered people came from within. Rek opened the door and stepped inside.

Rule Of Three

ikazuchi — Sun, 04 May 2008 23:37:29 +0000

Currently making its rounds through the NBES (Non-Business Email Spams) is the following story:

In ancient Greece (469 – 399 BC), Socrates was widely lauded for his wisdom. One day the great philosopher came upon an acquaintance, who ran up to him excitedly and said, “Socrates, do you know what I just heard about one of your students…?”

“Wait a moment,” Socrates replied. “Before you tell me, I’d like you to pass a little test. It’s called the Test of Three.”

“Test of Three?”

“That’s correct,” Socrates continued. “Before you talk to me about my student let’s take a moment to test what you’re going to say. The first test is Truth. Are absolutely sure that what you are about to tell me is true?”

“No,” the man replied, “actually I just heard about it.”

“All right,” said Socrates. “So you don’t really know if it’s true or not. Now let’s try the second test, the test of Goodness. Is what you are about to tell me about my student something good?”

“No, on the contrary…”

“So,” Socrates continued, “you want to tell me something bad about him even though you’re not certain it’s true?”

The man shrugged, a little embarrassed.

Socrates continued, “You may still pass though because there is a third test – the filter of Usefulness. Is what you want to tell me about my student going to be useful to me?”

“No, not really…”

“Well,” concluded Socrates, “if what you want to tell me is neither True nor Good nor even Useful, why tell it to me at all?”

The man was defeated and ashamed and said no more. This is the reason Socrates was a great philosopher and held in such high esteem. It also explains why Socrates never found out that Plato was banging his wife.

The crappy thing about this is that most people will read this and find it funny due to one sentence at the end instead of taking the time to reflect upon the Role Of Three outlined in the story and apply it to their own lives.

Thinking Differently: A Story

ikazuchi — Sun, 04 May 2008 23:03:15 +0000

Another story that I have no idea of the origin, but it exemplifies my love of thinking outside the box (to use an exhausted cliché).

Some time ago I received a call from a colleague. He was about to give a student a zero for his answer to a physics question, while the student claimed a perfect score. The instructor and the student agreed to an impartial arbiter, and I was selected.

I read the examination question: “SHOW HOW IT IS POSSIBLE TO DETERMINE THE HEIGHT OF A TALL BUILDING WITH THE AID OF A BAROMETER.”

The student had answered, “Take the barometer to the top of the building, attach a long rope to it, lower it to the street, and then bring it up, measuring the length of the rope. The length of the rope is the height of the building.” The student really had a strong case for full credit since he had really answered the question completely and correctly! On the other hand, if full credit were given, it could well contribute to a high grade in his physics course and to certify competence in physics, but the answer did not confirm this.

I suggested that the student have another try. I gave the student six minutes to answer the question with the warning that the answer should show some knowledge of physics. At the end of five minutes, he had not written anything. I asked if he wished to give up, but he said he had many answers to this problem; he was just thinking of the best one. I excused myself for interrupting him and asked him to please go on.

In the next minute, he dashed off his answer which read: “Take the barometer to the top of the building and lean over the edge of the roof. Drop the barometer, timing its fall with a stopwatch. Then, using the formula x=0.5*a*t^^2, calculate the height of the building.” At this point, I asked my colleague if he would give up. He conceded,and gave the student almost full credit.

While leaving my colleague”s office, I recalled that the student had said that he had other answers to the problem, so I asked him what they were.

“Well,” said the student, “there are many ways of getting the height of a tall building with the aid of a barometer. For example, you could take the barometer out on a sunny day and measure the height of the barometer, the length of its shadow, and the length of the shadow of the building,and by the use of simple proportion, determine the height of the building.”

“Fine,” I said, “and others?”

“Yes,” said the student, “there is a very basic measurement method you will like. In this method, you take the barometer and begin to walk up the stairs. As you climb the stairs, you mark off the length of the barometer along the wall. You then count the number of marks, and this will give you the height of the building in barometer units.”

“A very direct method.”

“Of course. If you want a more sophisticated method, you can tie the barometer to the end of a string, swing it as a pendulum, and determine the value of g at the street level and at the top of the building. From the difference between the two values of g, the height of the building,in principle, can be calculated.”

“On this same tact, you could take the barometer to the top of the building, attach a long rope to it, lower it to just above the street, and then swing it as a pendulum. You could then calculate the height of the building by the period of the precession.”

“Finally,” he concluded, “there are many other ways of solving the problem. Probably the best,” he said, “is to take the barometer to the basement and knock on the superintendent”s door. When the superintendent answers, you speak to him as follows: ”Mr. Superintendent, here is a fine barometer. If you will tell me the height of the building, I will give you this barometer.”

At this point, I asked the student if he really did not know the conventional answer to this question. He admitted that he did, but said that he was fed up with high school and college instructors trying to teach him how to think.

The student was Neils Bohr.